


Saturday Night.

by doctorkaitlyn



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Canon, Drunk Sex, M/M, One Night Stands, One Shot, Oral Sex, Preseries, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-02
Updated: 2012-11-02
Packaged: 2017-11-17 15:13:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/552947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctorkaitlyn/pseuds/doctorkaitlyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daryl and Glenn met once, before the apocalypse, in a bar. It was a Saturday night and they were both drunk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Saturday Night.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written and posted on ff.net in February of 2012. This was originally a two-part story but I decided to just combine the chapters into one. This also has a (short) sequel that will be transferred over from ff.net probably tomorrow. xo.

Daryl Dixon loved Saturday nights. He supposed that he wasn't the only one who did; it seemed to be the general consensus of most people in America that Saturday was the best day of the week, the one day where you weren't accountable to your job, where you were, essentially, able to do whatever the fuck you wanted to. It was the one day of the weekend where you weren't still tired from work or too hungover to do anything more than watch crap television all day.

Really, those reasons in themselves were enough to make Saturday his favorite day of the week. But it was more than that for him, more than just a day off from work. Saturday's were his day off from being him, from being Daryl Dixon. It was the only day of the week that he could get away from his brother Merle, get away from the image he'd had forced upon him by merely growing up in his piece of shit small town.

It was the only day of the week when he could go to Atlanta.

Every Saturday evening, once his brother had headed out to one of the numerous biker bars that dotted the countryside around their town, Daryl would take off in his pickup for the hour long drive to Atlanta, freshly showered and dressed in the least ripped pair of jeans he owned. He was always nervous on the ride there, cigarette jammed in his mouth, fingers nervously drumming on the steering wheel, terrified that he would look behind him and see Merle's bike following him. Then he'd have to explain why he was dressed 'like a fag' and really, he was pretty sure that Merle wouldn't be too happy if he'd told him that the reason he was dressed like one was because he was one.

The only possible outcomes for that scenario all involved his blood coating the hardtop and that was something that really made his stomach churn.

But by the time he reached the outskirts of the city, coasting by suburbia without any sign of Merle's bike, that nervousness floated away, replaced by giddy... butterflies, or something, in the general vicinity of his stomach. The feeling only increased as he made his way into the downtown core, scanning for a parking spot that wouldn't bankrupt him.

As soon as he stepped into the bar, however, even those butterflies were gone. Once he made his way through the queue and into the smoky, pulsating air of the bar, he was back into his true element, back to where he truly felt comfortable. He stopped worrying about Merle and what all his work buddies would think if they knew where he was, stopped thinking about what his Pa would think if he hadn't drank himself to death nearly a decade ago. He stopped thinking like Daryl Dixon and just let himself become Daryl, a completely different individual who belonged.

And oh God was it fun to be just Daryl. He never tired of it, of just throwing himself into the night, soaking up drink after drink and letting all the tension from the week drain out of his shoulders as he threw back shots; some that he had paid for, but mostly ones that someone else had bought him, the first step in securing his company until the early morning light.

But this particular Saturday night was different. Usually, Daryl let the men come to him, let them be the ones to offer him drinks until he found one he was particularly stuck on.

A man, he meant. Not a drink.

But the instance he submerged himself into the bar on this particular summer Saturday, his skin lightly dusted with sweat, he realized that, for once, he wanted to be the pursuer. He wanted to be the one who made the first move, who bought the drinks, who leaned in for the kiss first. He wanted to be the one in control.

It wasn't long before he found _him_ , the one he'd been looking for, sitting alone at the bar, looking like he'd walked straight in from a college campus. Indeed, the closer he got to the man, the more he looked like a kid still in college, his hair buried underneath a baseball cap, head tilted back as he poured a shot of clear alcohol down his throat. The action exposed his long, smooth as hell neck and Daryl immediately beelined for the bar, determined to stake his claim if possible. Snagging the barstool next to his target, he took a quick glance, nibbling on the corner of his mouth. The man was Asian and quite young, definitely a student if he'd ever seen one. Daryl couldn't help but grin; he had a sneaking suspicion that a fake ID was somehow involved in the equation.

"Hey." With that one word, the kid practically fell off of the bar stool, jolting like Daryl had stabbed him with a cattle prod or something electrical. It'd been hard to tell from across the bar but the kid had obviously already drank quite an amount; his balance was more than a little fucked and the sheepish grin plastered on his face practically spelled inebriated.

That didn't make him any less good looking, however. Up close, Daryl could see just how perfect the kid's skin was, how unflawed, completely void of the scars Daryl was peppered with. He was still dressed rather ridiculously for the environment, decked out in a plain t-shirt and baggy jeans and that goddamn hat, but none of that detracted (much) from the fact that he was still gorgeous.

"You gonna say something or you already drunk?" That did the trick; Daryl truly loved just how _prideful_ men were, especially young men who were drunk whether or not they admitted it. The kid immediately made an effort to sit up straight, adjusting his shirt like he was a goddamn peacock. preening his feathers. When he was done fixing himself up, Daryl stuck his hand out, offering himself up like a proper gentlemen.

"Name's Daryl," he said, leaning in closer so he could be heard over the pounding bass. The kid grabbed his hand a little too eagerly, wavering every so slightly on his stool. The skin of his palm was incredibly soft, not callused or cracked like everyone else he knew and Daryl couldn't help but hold on a little longer than was normal, letting his fingers slowly slip away.

"Glenn," the kid finally said, that grin getting even wider. The damn thing was contagious; even as Daryl found himself waving for the bartender, he could feel himself smiling like a goddamn teenager.

"Can I buy you a drink?" The kid nodded swiftly, his head looking like it was going to fly right off his neck. When the bartender brought back their shots, Glenn held his up into the air, tilting it at a rather dangerous angle.

Maybe he was a little _too_ drunk.

"Cheers," he said, winking before draining the shot in one practiced gulp. After only a moment's hesitation, Daryl did the same, wincing only the slightest as the liquid burned against his esophogus. When he slammed the glass back down, he noticed that the kid was leaning even closer to him, head propped up on his elbow, gnawing gently on the corner of his mouth. It was a look that suited him far too well and the only way Daryl could think to describe it was coy, like the kid was playing hard to get on purpose.

If that was the game Glenn wanted to play, then he could play right back.

"Bartender!"

***

It took Daryl six shots before he finally made a move. The kid was, quite frankly, completely fucking drunk and he wasn't exactly sober himself and Glenn was just the most gorgeous thing he'd ever seen, all long neck and thin wrists and smooth skin. There was no way he was going to pass this opportunity up, especially since the kid was basically sitting on his lap, hips barely resting on his own bar stool, leaning forward until he could feel Glenn's breath on his cheek.

How the _fuck_ was anyone supposed to resist a temptation like that?

The answer, in his alcohol buzzed synapses, was that you didn't. So when the kid leaned in just a tad more, fingers actually resting on Daryl's knee, he leaned as well and kissed him, unable to hide his chuckle as Glenn jumped back slightly out of surprise. If he had been more sober, his first thought might have been that the kid wasn't into it but that wasn't even an option in Daryl's brain; from the way the kid started kissing back, greedy hands fisting in the front of Daryl's shirt, he was definitely into it. Much as he wanted to return the action, to pull Glenn off of his seat and right into his lap, Daryl still had a grain of common sense that was telling him to hold onto his seat.

He didn't have to hold on for long, however, since the kid leaned a little too far forward and toppled over, his fingers splaying on Daryl's thighs for balance. Daryl didn't need to look at the bartender to feel the glare they were receiving and so he hopped off of his seat, slinging one arm around the kid's waist, not ignoring the fact that he could feel Glenn's hipbone pressing against his palm.

"How 'bout we get out of here? Does that sound like a good idea?" he murmured against Glenn's neck, following his question up with a nip to his earlobe. He could feel a moan vibrating in Glenn's throat and the sound only made him more desperate to get out of the damn bar.

"Christ, took you long enough to ask," Glenn groaned, grabbing Daryl's shirt in his hand and tugging him towards the door. Despite the state of his sobriety (or rather, lack of it), the kid was walking surprisingly steadily, weaving around the crowd until they burst out the doors into the fresh night air. Compared to the humid interior of the bar, it felt heavenly and without the thick air practically smothering him, Daryl could feel his senses clear a little, just enough to help him assess the situation.

The kid was still pulling him down the street, occasionally tripping over his own feet, but still firmly in control of the situation. Daryl couldn't help but feel like reversing their positions, like dragging Glenn to his truck so they could sprawl out across the front seat and... well, do whatever, really. He had a little extra money saved in his bank account; maybe he could even go all out and get a cheap motel room, one of those ones that were designed for one night stands. He opened his mouth to voice the ideas but apparently, Glenn had different ones; with one swift tug, he pulled Daryl off the sidewalk and into a darkened alley, completely empty of life and light.

Well, this was certainly something new. Daryl had never hit up an alley in any of his one night stands; he'd always considered them to be too damn dirty or scuzzy. But really, how different were they from those motel rooms with their starched sheets that would glow underneath a black light?

Whatever. It wasn't the time to think about cleanliness because Glenn had him pressed up against the brick wall of the alley and was attacking his neck, alternating between hard kisses and full on nips. Daryl didn't know what the hell he was supposed to do; he wanted to take back control, to be the aggressor, to fall back into his old routine. But the things Glenn was doing to him, nipping and pressing and sucking, all felt so goddamn good, so goddamn right.

So he let his head fall back against the wall, eyes shut as he let this incredibly gorgeous, slightly awkward man, do whatever he wanted to him. Glenn was muttering things against his ribs and hips in between bites and kisses and although Daryl didn't have a clue what he was saying, it only made him harder. By the time Glenn sunk to his knees, warm breath washing over Daryl's stomach, he was certain that he was going to explode if he didn't get touched soon.

He didn't have to wait very long. After a few seconds of desperate fumbling, Glenn ripped his belt buckle open, making short work of the button and zip of his jeans afterward. Daryl could hear the small noises leaving his mouth and he couldn't help but imagine how he looked; slightly pathetic, at the mercy of a guy who was barely legal.

His Pa would have been _so_ proud of him.

He started laughing at his own sarcasm but this was quickly cut off when Glenn unceremoniously went down on him, soft fingers pressing against his hips, warm mouth vibrating with moans. As much as he enjoyed the sheer convenience of the location, Daryl found himself wishing that they were somewhere with a little more illumination because _Jesus_ he wished he could see Glenn's pretty, glistening lips stretched around him. His rhythm was a little off, alternating between quick and way too slow but really, it didn't matter, because what the kid lacked in technique, he more than made up for with his sheer enthusiasm. Daryl didn't think that he'd ever met anyone who enjoyed sucking his cock so much; Glenn was doing it like there was nowhere else in the world he'd rather be.

"Jesus fucking Christ," he groaned, throwing his head back again. His entire body felt like it was on fire and it was only getting warmer with each minute that ticked by. He was only vaguely aware of the fact that he had knocked that silly baseball hat off of Glenn's head but it didn't seem important; what was important was that the kid's hair was just as soft between his fingers as he'd imagined, slipping through his hands like it was made of silk.

Good God, _everything_ about Glenn was soft, especially his mouth. Daryl was trying his hardest not to press his hips up but he couldn't help it; it just felt so damn good and he was so damn close and he just needed a little bit more-

Suddenly, he was coming, harder than he'd ever though was possible, his fingernails pressing into Glenn's scalp, teeth sunk into his bottom lip in a futile attempt to contain the noises that he was making. To his surprise, Glenn kept sucking until he was completely spent, swallowing what he could and wiping the rest off with the back of his hand. When he stood back up, he was grinning again, like he was so proud of himself. Even though he was exhausted (and wasn't sure if his legs would hold his weight if he moved away from the wall), Daryl couldn't just leave him without returning the favour. He quickly reversed their positions, pressing Glenn against the wall, feeling his erection through the kid's jeans. When he leaned in to kiss him, letting his legs get more steady, he could taste himself on Glenn's tongue.

Soon enough, Glenn had broken down into a mess of whimpers and half formed words, his blunt fingernails pressing into Daryl's shoulders as Daryl discovered that even his cock was soft, smooth in his hands. Daryl ducked his head into the hollow of his neck, leaving rough kisses down Glenn's throat and over his collarbone, biting down hard enough to make him fucking squeal.

"Jesus, fuck, oh my God _Daryl_!" Daryl was sure he felt a bit of blood trickle down his arms as Glenn came, spurting over his own stomach and Daryl's hand. When his hips stilled and he went limp against the wall, Daryl cleaned off his fingers, not really registering the taste. Glenn showed no signs of moving any time soon; once he'd done up his pants, he'd returned to leaning against the wall, gasping for air.

Now this was the awkward part. Daryl always had a difficult time with the morning after, or what have you. He couldn't help but feel self-conscious; now that the deed was finished, it was like Glenn no longer had any use for him, didn't even have enough dignity to say goodbye. Normally, Daryl just brushed it off and went on his way but this was different; there was _something_ different about Glenn, something good. It didn't feel right to just be ending it so bluntly.

"Thank you." Glenn's voice snapped him back to attention and even in the dark, he could see that he was grinning again. "Thank you."

"Next Saturday?" The words came out of Daryl's mouth before he could think about them, but he didn't regret it. He definitely wouldn't mind if this became a weekly occurrence. Glenn chuckled softly and with one flailing hand, pulled Daryl in for one last, quick kiss.

"I'll see what I can do."

Daryl ended up sleeping in his truck that night and, on the trip back home, he couldn't help but replay the night over and over again. On the surface, it was just like countless other nights he'd gone through but it was Glenn that made it so memorable; even in his sober state, Daryl could still remember that Glenn had been gorgeous and so damn enthusiastic. He wasn't going to fool himself completely; he knew that the chances of him seeing Glenn again were slim to none.

But still. It was a pretty damn good reason for him to keep looking forward to Saturday nights.


End file.
